CHAPTER 5
1996 Words
Amara had always been good at hiding her emotions, but that night… she failed miserably.
The moment Damian walked out of the gallery and the door clicked shut behind him, her heart felt like someone had reached inside her and twisted it, slow and cruel. She stood completely still for several seconds, as though her own body needed time to understand that he had truly left.
That he had walked away from her.
Again.
Her fingers clenched around the edge of the counter, breath tight and trembling. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. No man had ever had this kind of effect on her—no one had ever been able to pull her emotions out of her chest as though he owned the right to them.
But Damian Voss… he was different.
And that was the problem.
She turned off the lights in the gallery and locked up, her heartbeat echoing in the quiet evening. The sky was a watercolor wash of purple and silver, the air carrying the faint scent of rain. Amara tucked her coat tightly around herself and started walking back to her apartment, the city lights stretching out like a never-ending web of secrets.
Every step was heavy with his voice.
His eyes
She tried to shake it off. She tried to remind herself of the truth: Damian was complicated. Dangerous. Too wealthy, too powerful, too unreadable. He wasn’t the kind of man she should feel anything for.
But feelings had never been polite. They never waited for permission before taking root.
The rain had already started falling by the time she got home. Soft, steady, like the sky was trying to comfort her. She dropped her keys on the table, kicked off her shoes, and sank onto the couch with a long, shaky exhale.
And then, as if on cue, her phone buzzed.
One name flashed on the screen:
Zaina.
Amara almost laughed. Her friend had always been unnervingly intuitive.
She picked up. “Hello?”
“Okay, what’s wrong with your voice?” Zaina demanded immediately. “You sound like someone swallowed your joy and refused to return it.”
A small, tired smile touched Amara’s lips. “It’s nothing.”
Zaina scoffed loudly. “Lies. You don’t even lie convincingly. What happened? Did someone break your heart?”
The words cut sharper than they should have.
Amara swallowed. “It’s Damian.”
A dramatic gasp. “The billionaire with eyes like storm clouds?”
“Zai— Start talking.”
So she did.
Well… not everything. She didn’t tell Zaina about the strange moment between them in the gallery, or how he’d looked at her like he wanted to say something but swallowed it down. She didn’t describe the feeling that something inside him was breaking open, like he was fighting demons he refused to name.
But she said enough.
Enough for Zaina to exhale softly. “Amara… are you falling for him?”
Silence filled the line.
Silence that screamed louder than any confession.
Zaina murmured gently, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know.” Amara whispered. “But it feels like he’s hiding something. Something heavy.”
Zaina didn’t answer immediately.
When she did, her voice was slower, thoughtful. “Then you need to decide if you’re ready to handle a man like that. Some people hide shadows deep enough to swallow you whole if you’re not careful.”
Amara closed her eyes.
She already knew.
She was already being pulled into his shadows.
After the call, she showered, changed into soft pajamas, and carried a cup of tea to the window. The city below glowed like a restless heartbeat. She sipped her tea, but it barely warmed her.
Because her thoughts weren’t here.
They were with him.
Damian Voss.
A man who brushed against her life in fragments—sharp, addictive fragments.
He spoke with control, but beneath his voice was something vulnerable. Something fractured. Something that made her want to understand him even if it ruined her.
Why did he look at her like he didn’t deserve to?
Why did he speak to her like every word was pulled from a wound?
And why—why—did she feel this… connection? This unexplainable pull?
The questions haunted her deep into the night.
The next morning, she woke up before dawn, feeling unsteady but determined. If Damian wanted to walk away, she would focus on her life. Her goals. Her gallery. Her peace.
She dressed, tied her hair back, and left early for the gallery.
The city was still half-asleep, the streets glistening from last night’s rain. She enjoyed the quiet. It made her feel like she could breathe again.
But when she reached the gallery and unlocked the door, she froze.
Something was wrong.
The lights were off, but she saw a faint silhouette inside.
Someone was in her gallery.
Her breath caught.
She stepped softly inside, her heartbeat thundering.
The figure turned.
Amara gasped.
“Damian?”
He stood in the middle of the gallery, hands in his pockets, shadows clinging to him like second skin.
“What… what are you doing here?” she whispered.
His jaw tightened slightly. “I needed to talk to you.”
A shiver ran down her spine.
“What about?”
He was silent for several seconds, as though choosing his words carefully. Painfully. He stepped toward her slowly.
“I shouldn’t have left the way I did yesterday,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t have walked out.”
Her chest tightened. “Then why did you?”
His gaze darkened, the internal storm behind his eyes rising. “Because I’m fighting something I don’t even know how to explain.”
Her pulse stilled.
He ran a hand through his hair—an rare c***k in his perfectly controlled demeanor. “I came to tell you something yesterday. Something important. But when I stood in front of you… I couldn’t.”
“Why?” she whispered.
He exhaled shakily. “Because you make me forget everything I rehearsed.”
Heat flushed through her chest, unexpected and overwhelming.
“Damian—”
“No, let me finish.”
His voice was raw. Unsteady. Honest in a way that almost hurt.
“There’s something you should know.” He paused, eyes dropping. “Something about me. About why I—why I’m like this.”
Her breath stilled.
She stepped closer, gently. Carefully. “Damian, you can talk to me.”
He looked up sharply, his eyes almost pained. “Don’t say that.”
“Why?”
“Because if you say things like that… I won’t be able to stay away from you.”
A soft, strangled sound left her throat.
The gallery felt too small suddenly. Too intimate. Like the air had turned magnetic.
She swallowed. “What are you so afraid of?”
“You,” he whispered. “You’re the only thing I don’t know how to control.”
Her knees weakened.
Damian stepped closer—close enough that she felt the warmth radiating from his body. Close enough that breathing became difficult.
“I’ve spent years building walls,” he murmured. “And you… you’re breaking them without even trying.”
She inhaled shakily. “Damian…”
He reached up and brushed a stray curl from her face—the softest touch, but it burned her skin like fire.
“I shouldn’t be near you,” he said. “But God help me… I can’t walk away.”
Her heart felt like it was beating everywhere—her chest, her throat, her fingertips.
“Then don’t walk away,” she whispered before she could stop herself.
His breath caught.
For a moment—one staggering moment—Amara thought he might kiss her. His gaze dropped to her lips, his chest rising sharply. Her body leaned into him, instinctively drawn.
And then—
He pulled back.
Not far, but enough.
Enough to hurt.
“I can’t,” he said roughly.
The words sliced something inside her.
“Why?” she breathed.
“Because getting close to me will destroy you.”
Her throat tightened. “You don’t get to decide that.”
He closed his eyes, jaw tight. “You don’t understand. There are things you don’t know. Things I haven’t told you.”
“Then tell me.”
“I can’t.” His voice broke at the edges. “If I do… you’ll never look at me the same again.”
She stared at him, her heart breaking in slow motion.
“Damian, what are you hiding?”
He swept a hand across his face, tension radiating from him. “I didn’t come here to drag you into this. I came here to apologize.”
“Then stay,” she whispered. “Stop running.”
He looked at her—truly looked at her—and the conflict in his eyes nearly tore her apart.
Then
He moved toward her quickly, lowering his voice. “There have been… signs. Things you haven’t noticed.”
“What are you talking about?”
Damian’s expression hardened into something cold, something protective. “You might be in danger.”
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
“Danger from who?” she whispered.
He hesitated. Just for a heartbeat.
“From the people tied to my past,” Damian said quietly. “From the people who want something they think you might have.”
“What could I possibly have?”
“Something your father left behind.”
Her breath stopped.
“My father?” she whispered. “Damian… my father died with nothing. He didn’t leave me anything.”
“That’s what you believe,” Damian said gently. “But that’s not the truth.”
Her skin turned cold.
“What… what do you know about my father?”
He closed the distance between them again, his presence a wall of heat and tension.
“More than you think,” he whispered. “More than I ever wanted to.”
“What are you saying?”
He swallowed, his voice almost breaking.
“Amara… your father’s downfall wasn’t an accident.”
She stared at him, disbelief freezing her lungs.
“What do you mean?”
His next words were soft.
“It was planned.”
Her knees almost buckled.
Damian stepped forward instantly, steadying her with warm, strong hands. “I shouldn’t be the one telling you this—but you deserve to know.”
She felt the world tilt.
“What do you know about my father?” she whispered again, the fear creeping in.
Damian hesitated.
Then—
“He was destroyed by someone powerful,” he said. “Someone with influence. Someone whose actions still have consequences today.”
Her voice cracked. “Who?”
His eyes softened with something close to sorrow.
“Amara… you’re not ready for that truth yet.”
She flinched like he’d struck her.
“Don’t tell me I’m not ready,” she whispered. “It was my father. My family. My life. If you know something—anything—you need to tell me.”
He inhaled deeply, eyes filled with a storm she couldn’t interpret.
“Then listen carefully,” he said. “Because once you hear this, nothing will ever be the same.
Her breath stopped.
Damian opened his mouth—
And just then, a sharp metallic sound echoed from outside the gallery door.
Both of them froze.
Damian’s expression changed instantly—hard, alert, dangerous.
He grabbed her wrist.
“Amara,” he whispered get behind me.”
Her breath shattered.
The doorknob turned.
Someone was outside.
Listening.
Trying to come in.
Damian stepped in front of her, his body a shield.
“Stay quiet,” he murmured.
The doorknob twisted again.
A soft click.
Like someone loading
Something deadly.
Damian’s voice dropped into a whisper laced with ice.
“They found us.”
- Writer
